


Painted

by giraffles



Series: FMA Rarepair Week 2016 [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, FMA Rarepair Week, Fantasy AU, M/M, Magic Users, beast!Russell, nothing actually happens I'm sorry, these kids curse like sailors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffles/pseuds/giraffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>What did you think would happen, when you put me in an unnatural space?<br/>A cruel dark box where a shadow took my place.</i>
</p><p>He begins to wonder if the trip is worth it when he talks to the locals. They’re a rural community, not unlike the one he and Al grew up in, just far enough away from the more urban areas to let traditions sink in deep claws and for superstitions to fly freely. They’re nice people, welcoming and friendly, but they tell him to stay far away from the castle.</p><p>It’s haunted, they all agree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote too much for this fantasy/Beauty & the Beast AU and didn’t. Really get anywhere. I’d love to continue/rework it at some point, but we’ll see!

He begins to wonder if the trip is worth it when he talks to the locals. They’re a rural community, not unlike the one he and Al grew up in, just far enough away from the more urban areas to let traditions sink in deep claws and for superstitions to fly freely. They’re nice people, welcoming and friendly, but they tell him to stay far away from the castle.

It’s haunted, they all agree. Empty, abandoned and overgrown, patrolled by some dark beast that none have seen but they all swear exists. Guarded by a phantom that twists the world around it. There have been signs, supposedly; huge paw prints in mud, mangled deer corpses, the howls that have echoed in the night. Tales of hunters seeking fame or fortune and finding death or madness for their troubles. Ed understands the power of suggestion and knows how stories can evoke such primal fear. How things can warp as time goes on, how ghosts gain presence and power with every retelling. He also knows its all bullshit.  

Especially when face to face with the decrepit castle, half crumbled in and overrun with nature. Maybe it helps that he has the day light on his side, warm spring breezes and birds chiming from the forest branches. It’s impressive, but kinda sad. Not nearly the den of terror they made it out to be.

The front gate is still standing somehow, dark and rusted, entangled in so many vines and wildflowers that there’s no way he’s getting it open. So he goes over the top instead, which is easy to do with that ornate ironwork that may be old but still holds fast, even though it tries to catch on his coat. There are hundreds of tiny white flowers dotting the plants that have grown around the gate, and he ends up covered in them by the time he reaches the other side.

      “Well, that wasn’t so hard.” He said unto the silence of the place— eerie, yes, but not a horror novel come to life. “Now, if I was an ancient magical book, where would I be hiding?”

At the end of it all, even if there had been some dread beast guarding the castle grounds, Ed would have come anyway. It’s the last place the Tome of Virtas was reported being, as far as his most recent research was concerned. It was still just a rumor, a shot in the dark, but he couldn’t _not_ take that chance. At least this place could be crossed off the list if he didn’t find it.

The door is heavy, but rotten at the edges, so it’s not hard for him to push it ajar enough to slip inside. It’s not as dusty as he would have imagined, and the broken windows let in the afternoon sun, casting patterns on the floor. The castle has seen better days, but there’s a sense of peace to the place. Something supernatural spurring it into quietness. There’s that telltale tingle that magic had touched the grounds, and he can feel it in his core. All Magus have the sixth sense for the trails for fae that criss-cross the world— but ever since he dabbled in necromancy, it stings a little sharper.

It’s not uncommon for such an old place to be lined with a little fae. That’s the nature of anything that exists for a significant period of time. Life isn’t linear, as much as mortals try to make it so. Everything is a little twisted up in itself, changing and expounding reactions, energy in constant motion. It’s the only reason any Magus can tap into the wells of power beyond their own.

So he brushes the sensation off. It’s just a buzz in the background, humming along as he picks his way across the leaning grand staircase. He does notice the deep gouges in the wood, along side miscellaneous scrapes and dents, but they’re probably just from local wildlife. Raccoons, maybe. Possibly a bugbear. Because they may _sound_ intimidating, but they’re more like overgrown puppies. With talons and attitude by the bucket. Pointy puppies? Nothing worse that what Alphonse’s feline terrors inflicted on their house at least. Keeping the woodwork claw-mark free was a losing battle.

The upstairs hallways are strewn with broken furniture and other fixtures. Most paintings and tapestries have long since moldered away, but there are still a few faded portraits that linger. It doesn’t bode well for the state of any books left in the castle. He really hopes magic manuscripts were weatherproofed.

He kicks down doors until he finds the right one, opening up into a grand library with sagging bookshelves. It would have been too much to ask for most of the books to still be on the shelves instead of strewn about the floor, pages ripped and warped, some obviously trampled. He trips and startles some birds who fly screaming from the room. The prickling feel of fae that he’s been ignoring has suddenly turned into a crescendo of alarm, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary in sight, unless something is hiding further down the aisles. Against his better judgment he continues on.

He rounds a corner to find a snarling maw of teeth waiting for him.

Ed barely has enough time to process what he’s seeing before the beast slaps him to the side with a giant paw. If having the wind knocked out of him isn’t enough, there’s being slammed against the nearest shelf and being half suffocated in falling books.

      “What the _fuck_ —” Is as eloquent as he can get when the animal or monster or whatever the hell it is tries to snap at him, and he instinctively punches at it with his metal arm. There’s the satisfaction that it’s indeed a solid creature when he feels the impact alongside the startled yelp it let’s out. It gives him enough time to scramble back to collect himself, the mantra of a fireball ready on his tongue.

So there’s a guardian of sorts after all. It has to be at least six foot at the shoulder, looking like a cross between a lion and a jaguar, sleek and powerful. It’s fur is sable black but spotted with white rosettes, sporting a jagged and sparse mane, while a bifurcated tail flicks with annoyance. It growls, low and threatening.

      “What the fuck.” He repeats, and the beast snarls.

      “ _Get out!_ ” It all but howls.

      “I don’t think so.” The voice that comes out of it isn’t what he expected, it’s light, young sounding, even as it spits at him. He holds his ground. “How about _you_ get out.”

The dark beast charges him, and he dodges at the last moment, only to find he’s underestimated their speed and agility. Ed catches another chestful of supernatural feline as it barrels into him, and he wonders briefly why it doesn’t try to bite or maul him.

But then they both go crashing through a window and he has other things to wonder about.

If he doesn’t want to be more than a pretty stain on the ground, he has to find a way to arrest his fall. Or rather, _their_ fall, because the lion-jaguar-thing still has a it’s forelimbs wrapped about him; breathing hot air on his face as they free-fall. Ed finds the lines of magic that lay across the area, summoning the power to move both the earth and mossy rocks of the castle walls. Arcs of light come to reform them into some sort of rough slide that they tumble down, landing them in a heap in some rose bushes. The beast lands a kick on him that sends him into a nearby fountain.

It’s his turn to howl in indignation as he flails in the water, coming up sputtering and again inches from the face of the the castle monster.

      “ _Leave!_ ”

      “No!” Al always said his stubbornness would be the death of him. And here he is, fighting with something that could probably eat him in two bites, and no one would ever know what happened to him. “Not until I get what I came for!”

Surprisingly, the cat backs off for a moment and roars. Ed thinks that maybe it’s had a change of heart until the greenery around him ripples to life. Vines and leaves are suddenly wrapping about his limbs, and before he knows it, he’s been thrown over the stone wall and into the waiting mud. It’s not the most flattering defeat he’s ever had.

      “You asshole!” He yells at the wall, which is rapidly becoming covered in wicked brambles. “What did I ever do to you?!”

Aside from breaking and entering.

Though after he’s had a few rage-filled minutes to think about it, it occurs to him that he’s never seen anything like /that/ before. A mystery animal that knew human words, who just used rare Magus powers to toss him around like a paper toy. Who could have killed him about four different times, but chose not to.

      “Huh.” He attempts to wipe the mud off his front. It doesn’t work. “ _Huh._ ”

 

* * *

 

Ed lies to the villagers when he shows up hours later, grimy and sporting an array of bruises under his clothes. He smiles sheepishly and insists that he fell— he wasn’t watching where he was going, he tripped on a branch, the rest is history. No, he didn’t hear any strange roaring, where they sure it came from the direction of the castle? Probably just the wind or something. He would have remembered seeing a giant monster.

He escapes their questions and curious gazes, hides in a room at the local inn, and scry’s Alphonse.

      “Huh.” Is the first thing he says too once Ed has rambled about everything for nearly an hour. “That’s certainly… different.”

      “That’s what I thought.” he’s flipping through the few notebooks he brought along with him, looking for maybe something he’s scribbled in them over the years that will explain the lion in the castle. But he knows nothing is there, because he’s never encountered something like this before. “Any ideas?”

      “Hmm.” Al’s image in the crystal surface wavers a little when he moves. “Let me go check something. I feel like I’ve seen a picture that looks like what you told me. You sure it was white on black, and not the other way around?”

      “I’m sure,” and then, as an after thought, “I’m not bringing it home for you.”

      “Don’t be like that!” the mirror is empty at the moment, as Al has moved from view, but his voice still echos from it none the less. “I’m sure they’d get along with Faustus!”

      “ _No more cats._ ” He bites out. Three is more than enough. Faustus he can forgive, because he’s a familiar first and pet second, but the other two are useless. He can’t remember why he agreed to them in the first place.

There’s something about that creature that nags at him. It wasn’t fae. It wasn’t demonic. Not someone’s familiar, no, those felt different from others. That was it. It _felt_ different— not quite like it was all magical. A little more mortal than it’s form would suggest.

Almost like a human in the skin of a beast.

      “Ah, found it.” Al has returned with a huge text book. It must be a bestiary from the decorations and vivid drawings of animals both supernatural and mundane. “It sounds like a chimera.”

      “Don’t those usually have more than one head?”

      “Not always. They’ve become synonymous with with alchemy— here, look.”

On the page he’s holding up is a leopard-looking cat, with big polka dot spots and twin tails. Ed supposes it looks a /little/ similar. But only a little.

      “It’s the physical manifestation of dualities,” He continues, “Like the two-headed dragon, or sun and moon, male and female, you know what I mean. I’ve heard some Magus have used them as familiars before, but you have to create them from scratch.”

      “Can they talk? This one talked.”

      “I dunno. Maybe?” Al shrugs. “It’s not really my area of expertise.”

      “It also used Magus powers.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Very sure.” He doesn’t mention what kind, because chlorokenetics are rarer than rare, and there is the slight chance he could be wrong. Very slight. “But there wasn’t anyone else there, I would have noticed them.”

Well, that settled it. He was just going to have to go back tomorrow and see what the hell was going on.

 

* * *

 

This time he comes prepared. It’s not much of a peace offering, just a ham sandwich purchased before he set out that morning, but hopefully it’s the thought that counts. And now that he knows that something _is_ there, he can go in with eyes wide open, with a spell or five in reserve.

The front gate is markedly different, now covered in vicious thorns and cruel looking branches. It’s a departure from the air of soft spring that used to be be about it, and he can tell it’s because of the guardian’s shift in mood from the day prior. They’re probably still mad. Not as though that’s going to stop him. He hikes his bag up higher on his shoulder and gets to climbing.

This time he’s back within the castle grounds with runs in his coat and a scratch or fifty, but he’s never let a little blood stop him before. The dark mass of fur he’s suddenly staring into might, however. They growl in a guttural way but he plants himself on the spot and refuses to be intimidated.

      “I told you to _leave._ ” There’s that voice again, angry sounding, but so very… boyish? Was that a thing? “I could _kill_ you.”

Ed huffs. He starts rummaging around in his bag for the sandwich, even though the beast is getting uncomfortably close. “Yeah, you could. But you won’t.”

He shoves the slightly smushed combination of meat and bread up to the lion-jaguar’s (jaglion’s?) maw. It pauses mid snarl, big blue eyes blinking in obvious confusion. It’s certainly more comical than he expected and at least he has the sense not to laugh about it.

      “What is that?”

      “It’s for you, dumbass.” Insulting it probably isn’t a good idea, but Ed was never very good at censoring himself. “To make up for barging in on you like that.”

The jaglion doesn’t let their guard down, but noses the offered sandwich anyway. “Are you trying to bribe me with _food?_ ”

      “Depends. Do you like food?”

A ridiculously large tongue sweeps out and licks the sandwich from his hand. It’s barely half a bite for something so large, but considering he’s never been very good with animals, he’ll take what progress he can get. Ed’s glad he was holding it with the metal hand, just in case. Those teeth sure looked sharp.

      “You’re not scared.” Those storm colored eyes narrow at him. It’s a statement, not a question. And he’s nervous, maybe, a little on edge— but no, he’s not scared.

      “Should I be?” He asks in return as he wipes his hand off on the edge of his coat. This only confirmed his theory that cats drooled as much as dogs did. “Look, I just want to check if something is here, alright? Then I’ll leave you alone and you can get back to doing… whatever it is you do around here.”

The jaglion paces back and forth in front of him, hackles raised, as if they’re trying to decide if they want to trust him or not. “What sort of thing?”

      “A book.” Ed shrugs. There’s no use in lying at this point. “Really old, might be magical. C’mon, it’s not like you read much anyway.”

At that the cat looks offended, pulling it’s head up and then sitting back on it’s hind legs so it can wave it’s forepaws about. “Well maybe I _would_ if I had some fucking _thumbs_.”

Ed has been trying very, very hard not to laugh at the creature he’s been negotiating with. But that just throws him over the edge, and he’s wheezing against the front gate— because their expression had just been so bitter and /put out/, like a little kid who’s been told they’re not tall enough to go on a ride at the carnival. Even as their growling it’s hard to catch his breath.

      “It’s not funny!”

      “It’s a little funny.”

      “It is not!” The beast whines, “What if _you_ woke up one day and suddenly didn’t have thumbs? Or weren’t even a goddamn human—”

They stop mid-sentence, as though a great secret had just been revealed, mouth snapping shut. With a low, annoyed rumble the jaglion whips around and begins to stomp away, bristling when Ed runs after them.

      “Ah _-hah!_ ” Ed grins, and he suddenly cares a lot less about the dumb book, “I knew it! You’re not fae! I knew you didn’t feel right!”

      “ _Go away!_ ” This time there’s an edge of violence in the voice, and some of the weeds by the door shrivel in their presence. Looks like he was right about the chlorokentic bit too. “Just leave me alone!”

      “I don’t think so.” No, Ed already has an idea rattling around in his head, a new challenge to overcome. “I’m not leaving until I figure you out.”

      “You’re getting your damn book and then you’re leaving.” The beast bites out, shoving past him and then deftly kicking the front doors shut behind them both.

      “Fine.” He agrees, taking the steps up the stairs two at a time just to keep up with them. He full intends to do both, but the jaglion doesn’t need to know that bit. “But it might take a while.”

They growl and he only shrugs.

 

* * *

 

Ed is pretty sure the Tome of Virtas is in another castle.

But to confirm that, he has to check them all. Every single book in the damn library. Sometimes magic texts were purposely designed to look beaten up, inconspicuous, undesirable. All the better to hide their secrets if people thought they where just a useless collection of love letters or home recipes. So no stone, or sad pile of ruined paper, could go unturned. The resident guardian spirit was being less than encouraging.

      “Are you done _yet?_ ”

      “No,” Ed doesn’t have a huge amount of patience on the best of days, and what little he does have was drained twenty minutes ago. “You could always help, y’know.”

They snort and wiggle dark toes. “I don’t have hands, jackass, remember? I’d shred them anyway.”

With the state of some of the collection, he has a feeling that they already tried to read some of what is laying about in ruin. Which brings him back to the proverbial dragon in the room.

      “So…” He begins, skimming a seriously outdated codex, “What on earth did you do to end up like that?”

      “I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “Well, I can’t reverse it if I don’t know what happened in the first place.” He throws that book to the side, in a pile with all the other sad rejects. “C’mon, I won’t judge. Much.”

The beast’s ears pin flat against their head, maw pulled into another vicious snarl, tail lashing about and knocking even more things off the surrounding shelves. Ed just sits and waits for an answer.

      “C’mooooon.”

      “No.”

      “Did you mess up a transmutation? Try to become a werewolf? Or, werecat I guess. Get into a fight with a local witch? They’re really nasty if you don’t know what you’re dealing with. I met this one once who—”

      “ _I don’t know._ ” And they sound so defeated that it takes him aback for a moment. “I don’t know, okay? So shut up.”

Now the books are definitely not important any longer. He’s seen too many people burned by the ill use of magic and harmed by the arrogance of other Magus to stand idle. He moves closer to them. They shuffle backwards.

      “What _do_ you know?”

      “Don’t you ever give up?”

      “No,” Ed concedes. “That’s kind of my thing.”

He’s broken so many rules and laws of nature that he’s become sort of a myth in his own right, even though he’ll never be comfortable with that title. He did what he had to in order to save his brother. And that had required re-writing a lot about what they had thought they knew about the world and how it worked. And if they took down some nefarious cults in the process, that was just a bonus.

      “Whatever.” Ed kicks a discarded book to the side. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

      “You’ll _what_ —”

      “Tomorrow,” He gestures outside the window, coincidentally the broken one from the day before. The sky is already starting to go pink and dim. “Because I’m sure as hell not sleeping here.”

The beast bears their fangs but doesn’t contest him.

 

* * *

 

      “You know,” he starts many days later, only halfway through the massive pile of unchecked books, “I don’t even know your name.”

      “ ‘S not important.” The jaglion mumbles. They’re only half awake, sprawled in a patch of sunlight nearby. The light makes their fur shine and glimmer in an unnatural way, but they don’t seem to notice. Ed wonders if the spots glow in the dark, because that would be awesome.

      “If you don’t tell me I’ll make one up for you.”

A blue eye cracks open at that. The stare he gets says ‘don’t you dare’.

      “I’m thinking ‘Sir Fluffypants’, or maybe ‘Mr. Polkadot McMittens—”

      “For fuck’s sake,” comes the exasperated sigh, “It’s Russell.”

      “See? That wasn’t so hard.” He throws a book at Russell, who bats it deftly out of the air. “I’m Ed.”

      “I don’t care.” It the sleepy mumble that follows.

      “You remember your name, at least,” he continues casually, “That’s something to start with.”

      “We are not doing this again.” Comes the muffled groan from under giant paws. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”

A good question. One that Al has already asked him more than once over the past week. He stopped caring about the book he came here to find about two days before, too enraptured with the new mystery in front of him. He’s seen Russell tend to the expansive castle gardens, willing ailing flowers and plants back to health, and even causing some to grow in intricate designs. Only dryads and nymphs and Green Magus have powers so comparable. Al has looked over every bestiary they own for an answer, some of them twice. Somehow he’s a person made monstrous— and now Ed wants to know how. More importantly, _why_.

Especially because, for as grumpy as he can be, Ed feels like he’s not that bad of a guy. That bad of a cat. Or something. He certainly doesn’t give off the vibe that he’s capable of doing something that warrants such a brutal curse.

He accepts ham sandwiches and other snacks as sacrifice for trespassing, and puts up with Ed rambling on about the ridiculous or interesting things he happens across in the abandoned library. In fact, he seems to posses a mind for science and magic, and can keep up with any theory or trieste Ed decides to talk about. A damn magical man-cat is better company than most of the other casters and scholars in Central. Al thinks that part is hilarious.

He tends the grounds and the gardens even though there’s no one to see them and whoever built this place is long dead. He helps Ed get to the tallest shelves, pawing down their contents for him to go through even as he complains the entire time. Once Ed mentioned the rumors of attacks and destroyed property and he seemed offended at the thought that it could have been him, because he would _never_ , even cursed creatures can have some manners and class. He does admit however to throwing trespassers back over the wall and using intimidation to make sure they don’t return. (Which he insists usually works, Ed must just be asking to get mauled, and if something does try to eat him Russell isn’t going to stop it.)

But he can’t remember anything that came before. And he refuses to talk about anything, much less to Ed who’s been hassling him this whole time. What it would take to do something like this is nothing to sneeze at— making someone into a magical creature is no small task and not something that’s done lightly.

So what on earth happened?

 

* * *

 

The villagers are starting to get suspicious of him. Ed has never been a good liar, or all that great at keeping a con going. He’s excellent at thinking on the run, cobbling together plans at the last minute, and making desperate grabs for goals. He burns fast and bright. Al is the one who’s better suited for the long haul.

They notice him buying extra food. They don’t stop him, or turn him away because who would say no to the coin, but they give him a critical eye. He knows they whisper behind his back about his long conferences with his brother and even longer stays at the castle. They don’t fully believe his stories about it being abandoned and quiet. They don’t trust him, and he doesn’t really blame them. Ed is still an outsider, no matter the prestige he brings along with him from his past adventures in magical studies and demon slaying. And none of the villagers really like that castle.

So, very quietly, he gathers up all of his things, leaves the last of his rent on the side table, and doesn’t look back.

He’s gone through the whole library, and many of the other rooms just in case. The Tome of Virtas isn’t there. Which is a disappointment, but not surprising. If that was that though he would have gone home a while ago. No, instead he climbs over the stupid gate for the twenty-fourth time and decides it’s time for something completely different.

      “We,” he announces once he’s found Russell nosing the patch of finicky flowers in the back, “Are leaving.”

      “We?” Russell replies, shaking stray leaves from his sparse mane. He licks a paw and does his best disinterested house cat impression. “I’m not going anywhere. Did you find your book?”

      “It’s not here.” He admits. He should have said something before now, but he had been coming up with excuses to stick around longer. “We’re leaving.”

This garners a far more negative reaction than he was expecting. There’s a growl like the ominous roll of thunder, and that same tension in the air just before lightning strikes.

      “Don’t tell me what to do.” Comes the snarl and the baring of teeth, “I happen to like it here.”

      “No you don’t.” Ed counters. And he knows he’s right. “You’re only here because you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

And he knows a little something about that, doesn’t he? Granted, it had been his own damn fault his house had been too desecrated to return to, but still. The concept is the same. In another life, if things had gone differently, he probably wouldn’t have chosen to join a stuffy academy-slash-military organization. He knows all about running from your problems and pretending that everything was okay.

Rounded ears swivel and pin back against dark fur, but there’s no scathing reply. No sarcastic quip or bored drawl. He must have hit a nerve or five. Silence is a misnomer; it has a sound, it’s deafening, a ringing sensation that makes one hyper aware of every little disturbance from wind rustling to hearts pounding in and out of time.

      “Fuck you,” Are the words that finally break the veil, “Fuck you, I’m not going to be some curiosity for you to put on display.”

      “For crying out loud, that’s not what I’m saying!” If Al was here he could frame it in pretty words, make it understandable and agreeable. He’d be able to convince anyone of the right course. “Do you _want_ to be stuck like this forever?”

      “Of course not!”

      “Well you’re doing a shitty job of reversing whatever the fuck happened just laying around here!”

      “Oh, yes, I’ll just walk into the nearest town and I’m _sure_ everyone there will be accommodating of _monster_ in their midst.” His words are so bitter they could bite. “What the hell would you have me do?”

      “That’s why I said _we_. No one can say anything if you’re with me.”

‘You don’t have to go alone’ is the implication, though Ed isn’t sure if he quite gets that part of it across. No one is going to question a prodigy and, loath as he is to say it, small-time hero. Or at least he’s going to deck anyone who tries. He can maybe pass him off as a familiar of sorts, if anyone insists on asking. But he can’t just _leave_ him here.

The castle and the grounds may be beautiful in a sense, but this is not a place for a living. There’s nothing left here for anyone. Only a hollow shell of what used to be. This place is a grave.

      “I promise you I’ll fix this.” A dangerous thing to pledge, but something he’s going to do his damnedest to fulfill. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

It’s the same thing he had said to a brother bound to the form of a golem, to a witch cast from her kin for her budding powers, and a girl who had been given to the fae. Maybe none of those examples had worked out ideally— but they _had_ worked out. He’d fought tooth and nail to make it so. He’s not about to give up on anyone.  

      “Come with me.” He says instead. “We’ll do it together.”

Russell huffs. He shuffles uneasily, claws furrows in the soft soil and grass that he’s worked so hard to keep green. He paces, back and forth, a nervous habit that he does more often than he realizes. Then he lowers his head and glowing blue eyes stare long and hard.

      “You promise?”

      “I promise.” And it’s more than just words, because words have power to them when spoken with intent. Maybe that’s how he’s gotten this far. By just wanting it enough, by repeating things over and over again until they’re made true. By sheer determination and grit and a whole lotta luck. There’s no discrediting talent, and fate can go fuck itself, but his track record is mostly positive.

The front gate that he’s grown to loath is the last thing standing in their way. Ed thinks they’ll have to climb it, like he’s been doing for weeks, but then the vines and briars curl away. The plants recede against the worn stone walls, and the metal of the gate almost looks naked now— Russell doesn’t seem to notice and headbutts it open. The hinges hiss with a finality that rattles through the morning air. And he asks, one last time;

      “Together?”

      “Together.”


End file.
